


The Art of a Perfect Gift

by swordliliesandebony



Series: Celebration Days [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Birthday Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 07:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12502076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swordliliesandebony/pseuds/swordliliesandebony
Summary: Shameless, over-the-top fluff for a sweet chocobo butt boy's birthday.





	The Art of a Perfect Gift

**Author's Note:**

> It's Prompto's birthday so have something fluffy and sweet.
> 
> A loose companion piece to my Noctis birthday fic [Thirty-One](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11948373).

Prompto is happy.

It’s a position he certainly never envisioned himself in. If he had been asked, at any point prior to this year, whether he even  _ could  _ be happy, he isn’t sure what he would have said. A staunch ‘unlikely’ would have probably been the case. Things tended to work out poorly for him. Hell, until a couple months ago, things tended to work out poorly for everyone. The world had been steeped in darkness, its only hope apparently lost to that stupid damn crystal. That stupid damn crystal is gone, though. It spit out the hope and they all clung to it, so impossibly hard, against fate and prophecy and all sorts of things that also tend to go poorly. 

That hope, of course, being Noctis; Noctis, alive and well and- Prompto is pretty sure- happy just the same, months after a set of tearful, inevitable goodbyes. Months after they had been certain he had come back to them, just for that night, just to be stolen away again. They clung  _ really  _ hard. Maybe it isn’t real. Maybe they all died there, and they’re only existing on the other side of some invisible curtain, living out their well-deserved happiness while some real world picks up the pieces. He doesn’t think that’s so likely the case.

There wouldn’t have been such a recovery period if this were some many-named afterlife. Not for the world and not for Noctis, who is still walking a little slower, who still has one leg dragging at times and an elegant, regal, inherited cane to help on those worse days. There’s still pain and things are still hard. Rebuilding a world takes a lot out of a guy. It takes a lot out of a number of guys, in this case. And still, Prompto is absolutely, unspeakably, perfectly happy. He’s happy because he’s waking up warm and safe and with an arm tight around his waist, a hand trailing aimlessly over his chest.

“You’re up early,” Prompto mumbles the words only when he feels a familiar heat pressing against his shoulder. He might have mistaken everything else for dream-fueled gestures or mindless, sleep-addled touches, but the kiss is something that Noctis would only manage if he was closer at least to waking than slumber. It has him smiling, has his hand going to press over Noct’s and trap it close to the warmth of his chest. He can set aside, almost forget, the years he spent curled up to old shirts, curled up alone and dreaming of a morning like this. His heart feels swollen, so close to bursting, on this kind of morning.

“Big day. Wouldn’t wanna miss it,” Noct says it in a low tone, not tired but conscious of Prompto being so fresh from sleep. He says it and follows the words with more kisses, at the base of Prompto’s throat and running a line up to the edge of his ear, where he goes for just a brief, gentle little nip. It’s a somewhat uncommon affection. Not that they don’t share plenty on a regular basis, but Prompto is more the instigator, more the one who so deeply desires those reminders that Noct is there and alive and with him, against all possible odds. 

“Big day…” Prompto repeats the words, and it’s clear enough that he has no idea what they refer to. He’s not great with dates. He would pretend it’s a pesky side effect of barely paying them mind for that dark third of his life, but that’s being a little bit too optimistic. The truth of the matter is, Prompto has  _ never  _ been great with them. There were important ones, of course, that he would keep track of and usually even pinpoint before they entirely passed. If there was a deadline, though, a big meeting or some new groundbreaking or any number of things that should definitely not be forgotten though, Prompto was sure to nearly miss the whole damn thing.

“Of course. You didn’t think I’d forget, did you?” Noctis asks, and there’s a certain tone to his voice that gives Prompto cause. As if he’s actually a little bit hurt by the notion. It has Prompto turning in bed to face him, making sure all the while his face is arranged to perfectly display his confusion. To make it utterly obvious that he has no idea what it is he would expect Noctis to forget.

“I mean, if you had, I wouldn’t have known. What’s the date, anyway?” There’s a beat where it seems like Noctis is trying to decide whether he believes Prompto’s question. It’s only a second though, and then his face is cracking into a proper smile and a chuckle is catching in his throat. It makes Prompto blush a little, makes him put on something close to a scowl while he tries to work out the answer all his own. Noctis cranes down to press a kiss onto his forehead then, deciding that apparently isn’t entirely sufficient, trails a few more down across Prompto’s temple and over freckled cheeks. More warmth chases the kisses and, well, Prompto is smiling again before he has a chance to stop himself.

“You really  _ are  _ an old man now, huh? Forgetting your own birthday,” Noctis laughs through the words, eyes all lit up in the way that only the most genuine of his smiles manage to achieve. It makes Prompto’s breath catch every damn time. The words, though, they make him laugh just a little bit too. His birthday. Obviously. It’s a bit ironic, really, given how much excitement Prompto had harbored when it came to arranging that gift for Noctis a couple months before. This gift, more accurately, as the bed they’re sharing happens to be part of it. On the scale of important dates though, Prompto ranks his own birthday about a hundred notches below Noct’s and, well, he’d gone through many years without acknowledging the date at all, so maybe it’s only fair for him to have forgotten. 

“Hush. You’re  _ way  _ older than me.”

“And still sharp enough to know it. C’mon, get up,” it’s absolutely a special day in Noct’s mind, if he’s the one urging them out of bed. Prompto groans but he doesn’t fight it, even if he takes a moment to crawl up over Noct, to get all straddled over him and laying on some kisses of his own. Noctis allows it, leans into it, plays right back at them for a few moments before he has them parting and Prompto guided to the edge of the bed.

“Not even gonna let me have a nice wake-up gift?” Prompto pouts, though it’s all a bit of a show. It’s easy to tell when Noct has something up his proverbial sleeve. Especially easy when it’s so obviously before noon and he’s making real, concentrated efforts to make it out of bed. It still wins a laugh and a shaken head though so Prompto is happy enough with the attempt. Their shoulders bump together when they’re both sitting there, a sort of gesture that makes Prompto feel very much half his age.

“Got something better planned, but you’re gonna have to get dressed for it.”

“Not sure I’m buyin’ anything that requires clothes as  _ better. _ ”

“Gonna hafta trust me. If I’m wrong, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. But I’m  _ not  _ wrong,” Noctis is putting on that total kingly confidence voice and, well, it works. It has Prompto finally rising from the bed and grumbling through the act of actually getting dressed. Noctis keeps reassuring, sliding an occasional  touch or  joke while he joins Prompto in the same. Prompto, for his part, isn’t  _ entirely  _ convinced. But it’s clear that Noctis has actual plans here, that he’s gone through the effort of coming up with something that he’s properly proud of, and Prompto isn’t about to discount that.

And, he has to admit, he’s pretty curious. Noctis isn’t big on the ‘planning’ thing. He leaves that sort of work to Ignis, more often than not. He’s more of the, ‘signing papers and looking pretty’ part of the equation. Okay, that isn’t  _ entirely  _ fair. He’s, more accurately, the public face of the rebuilding effort. The figurehead for a new world. The guy who died to save Everyone, then got plucked back from that to lead them. None of that means he’s ever planned an especially elaborate date, though. 

Whatever the plan is, it’s set outside the slowly-rebuilding remnants of the city. Everything considered, Insomnia has returned to life at an absolutely startling speed. Structurally, some parts of the city weren’t entirely destroyed, though you wouldn’t necessarily know it when you spend a great deal of your time in and around the citadel. Still, people had a home here once, and a great deal of them want to reclaim it. Streets, as they head for the outward gate, are lined with makeshift stands; food, trinkets, crafted goods… there’s a great variety, enough that if Noctis weren’t leading them so pointedly out of the city, Prompto might have easily gotten lost among the shops. It wouldn’t have been the first time. 

Noctis takes them to the gates of the city, to a truck Talcott has waiting for them and suddenly Prompto is  _ incredibly _ interested in what exactly Noctis has in mind for the day. He tries to weasel the information out of Talcott, only to be told that he really has no idea, that they should have a good time, relax, all that. And, no, he really doesn’t know  _ anything _ , please stop asking, happy birthday though. Deep down, Prompto is glad that Talcott didn’t have anything to spill. There’s a certain air of suspense and excitement when he climbs up into the cab of the truck, waits for Noct to get settled in and get them moving.

The truth of the matter is, their positions don’t give a lot of opportunity to steal away from the city. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, either. Noctis has still been recovering from his injuries, and the confinement is about the only way Prompto can imagine he would get any meaningful rest. He’s not exactly the sort of guy who appreciates being told to take  _ anything _ easy. And, everything considered, the citadel has stood up well to all those years of enemy occupation. The throne room notwithstanding, of course, but Prompto is pretty sure they’re all better off for that fact, for any proper excuse to avoid looking back on what happened there. So, really, it’s exciting as hell to get a trip away from the city. Noctis must have pulled any number of strings to make it happen, too. His duties are endless, even more so than Prompto’s, which feels impossible at times. The odds of Noctis actually getting a day off all to himself? Well, the gesture is more than soundly appreciated.

“You’re seriously not gonna tell me where we’re going?” Prompto makes sure that his question has the appropriate amount of feigned bratty whining sung through the tone. It’s a game now, and it’s one that has Noctis smiling while they drive, only shaking his head at the thought of giving up the big surprise.

“Nope. Just gonna hafta be patient,” Noctis sounds terribly proud of himself with that, and it makes Prompto groan and throw himself back in the seat. 

“Can I have a hint?” Prompto asks this when they’re a little ways out of the city, when they’ve passed Hammerhead and shown no signs of stopping off. Prompto didn’t exactly expect it to be their destination, but on the few journeys they’ve managed through the gates, they’ve tended to make it a quick stop before they head anywhere else. The place has purposed itself again so quickly it really does make Prompto’s mind spin. The remnants of the hunters’ camp still cling around the edges, but the place has easily reinvented itself again as a service outpost, thanks no doubt to Cindy’s efforts. Prompto likes stopping in, on the rare occasions they can, just to see how much has managed to change each time.

“You’re gonna like it,” Again, Noctis sounds proud of his words, the non-hint that they absolutely are. A silence falls for just a moment while Prompto squirms and makes a show of watching their surroundings pass, trying very obviously to guess their destination. Noctis breaks it though, with a lip quirking upward, “too bad about your camera getting all smashed. You’re totally gonna want pictures.”

Prompto feels his face fall for just a moment. It really  _ is  _ too bad, though it’s not as if their lives now have a whole lot that requires recording in photos. Still, it was a hobby he held close for a long time, one that he had even considered taking up again after Noct returned, in those few hours before he truly understood how short said return was thought to be. Something goes tight in his throat at the flood of memories, the ones that span back further, to campsites and inns and battles won by the skin of their teeth. 

“Hey, could you grab me a drink? Should be some in the center console,” Noct’s voice snaps Prompto from his quickly sinking mood and he nods at once, eager to get his head around anything other than memories. These times, for once, are better in ways. Nothing is hidden any more. They aren’t holding hands behind any backs, they aren’t sneaking kisses when Gladio’s off training and Ignis is hard at work on dinner. They can be together, and they can do it safely. The nostalgia isn’t so deep and strangling as it was when the world was dark and Noct was gone and Prompto was trying so desperately to wait out his return. More things not to think about, as he snaps open the compartment to fish out Noct’s drink.

He probably should’ve caught the tone in his voice, or that smile that Noctis was losing the battle to fight down, but Prompto had been lost in his mind. So when he opens the console and instead of drinks, finds his camera waiting, it catches him entirely by surprise. He seizes it out at once, turns the thing in his hands, such a familiar weight even after all these years. It doesn’t quite compute to him. Every detail is exactly as he remembers, however impossible it is. He can still see the shattered pieces of the thing on the throne room floor, clear as day. 

“How?”

“It’s not  _ exactly  _ the same one, obviously. But, y’know, same model and everything…” Noct’s voice sounds uncertain, apologetic even. Prompto has a feeling, if it was really an option, that Noctis would have had the original pieced back together and repaired properly. This would be, in his mind, the next best thing. Prompto can’t really think about anything along those lines, though. He’s flipping through settings, playing with buttons at once, something to hide the sudden sting in his eyes and tightness in his throat.

“Noct… this is amazing. I can’t believe you managed…” he really can’t say much, can’t trust his voice to hold out. But it has Noctis smiling all the same and, when the little waves of emotion stop rushing quite so hard through Prompto, he’s matching the expression. And, of course, he’s turning the camera to get a quick shot of them both crammed into the cab of the truck, all shining eyes and bitten-down smiles, “seriously, this is the best. I can’t believe it,” and Prompto keeps saying similar things every few minutes, his focus set properly on the camera.

Noctis doesn’t often  _ do  _ grand romantic gestures, but when he does, he manages to get them right. Even just that camera would have been enough to make Prompto’s whole damn day, he’s absolutely convinced of it. But they’re together, just the two of them, driving to some unknown destination on top of it. Noct is  _ really  _ good at this, when he puts his mind to it. Prompto is mostly glad that he’s gotten enough of a handle on his emotions when they turn finally off the main road and he realizes where they’re heading.

Generally speaking, there are two fates that the outposts of Lucis met over the ten years of darkness. The first is that the inhabitants fled for safer ground, somewhere closer to a main road, somewhere they might not be overwhelmed by the endless surges of daemons; usually Lestallum or Hammerhead or the old Hunters HQ, depending on where they might reach quickest. The second outcome was that the ever-swelling number of Hunters would come to them, establish a sort of field station, provide safety in their numbers. As a general rule, there had to be some draw. High ground, light from the meteor, sturdy shelters. Transportation.

The chocobo outpost isn’t entirely as Prompto remembers from that old lifetime, but it’s not far off, either. The value of the birds, when vehicles were increasingly hard to come by- and fuel more scarce still- was immeasurable. It was only natural that a place like this survive, perhaps even flourish. It still takes Prompto’s breath away when Noctis pulls them down that worn path, to see that sort of resilience in action. 

“ _ Noct _ ,” Prompto doesn’t have the right words for it. He’s springing from the truck the moment it’s stopped, eyes huge with wonder, with excitement, and with absolute  _ joy _ . Noctis tells him he can slow down, that the bird aren’t going anywhere, and that seems to be about as true a statement as any, but it doesn’t quite click in Prompto’s brain. It takes a lot of self-control to manage some words to the staff, though Noctis follows up to chat with them, and they don’t seem to take any mind with the absolutely childlike excitement.

Prompto is absolutely in heaven here. He’s snapping endless photos of the birds, of himself with the, then of Noct, of both of them, of every damn inch of the place. It’s not until he’s absolutely satisfied that he’s captured enough- and even then, he’s sure the camera will come back into play soon enough- that he focuses himself entirely on the chocobos. He really does feel like a kid, maybe even more so than their excursions out here on that road trip, when he was only a few years outside of actually being one. He offers up treats, and big lengthy pets along their necks. He feels very close to tears of joy when the occasional one will swoop down and nuzzle into his hand or chirp happily at his attention. It’s damn near more than he can comprehend.

“Why don’t we take one out for a ride?” Prompto has finally calmed a little, found himself giving special attention to an elderly old bird, jet black and full of affection for them both, when Noctis makes the suggestion. He has arms looped around Prompto’s waist and his chin rested on Prompto’s shoulder and he follows the suggestion with a brief kiss at his jaw. If the open affection bothers, or is even  _ noted _ by any of the stable hands, nobody says a word. The birds definitely don’t seem to mind.

“Really? You wanna?” Prompto turns a little so that he can get a look at Noct. He almost-  _ almost _ \- feels guilty. He’s been absolutely swept up with this particular gift. Noctis hadn’t been wrong by any means when he said that Prompto would enjoy it, but there certainly hasn’t been enough thanks on that end. Noctis doesn’t seem to mind though, only smiles and nods and shifts so he can get a hand around Prompto’s.

“Told you it’d be good. I went all out, Prom. You set the birthday bar pretty high, y’know,” they share a laugh, though Prompto isn’t entirely convinced that Noct is being truthful there. Yeah, Prompto worked hard in getting that room set up for Noct. He busted his ass, searching through boxes and boxes to find old comics and games, all sorts of relics from the past that he hadn’t even been fully convinced Noctis would want. It had turned out perfectly in the end, but it was still a gamble, and still not all  _ that  _ impressive by Prompto’s way of thinking. Noctis was happy, though, and that made it all feel a hell of a lot better. Maybe this is the same.

Noctis wasn’t lying to say that he really had gone all out. The chocobo in question is already saddled up for them, an enormous bird more than fit to take them both. Prompto really does try to keep a lid on his enthusiasm, but when he’s perched up there, Noct all pressed against his back, reins in hand, he’s grinning like an absolute idiot. And he doesn’t  _ care  _ that he is. It’s all so damn exciting, so exhilarating. It’s perfect. 

They move slow when they head out of the corrals and away from the outpost, relatively speaking. There’s still a pleasant breeze ruffling through Prompto’s hair and they’re still going far quicker than if they walked. Prompto asks, after a little ways, if he could take control for a little bit. Noctis only promises that he can in a bit, that he has a spot in mind beforehand though, just a little bit more carefully orchestrated birthday magic. 

The place he has his mind is a plateau set high a mile or two off from the outpost. The view there is stunning, endless sky above and landscape below for miles in any direction. It makes Prompto just a little bit dizzy when Noctis helps him down. Prompto’s legs are a little sore, wobbly from the ride and the now-unfamiliar sensation of it, but that fact can easily be set aside for how breathtaking it all is. Noctis tells him to enjoy it, because he’ll set up lunch. It’s a silly little bit, absolutely cliche. A tiny picnic, complete with a blanket spread on the ground and sandwiches prepared back at the outpost and canned drinks that overflow and draw a long bout of laughter when they try to open them.

Prompto doesn’t think it can get a whole lot better. They talk about nothing at all, really, all pressed together and working on their sandwiches. It’s a relief. It feels like being kids again, like being best friends again in a more straightforward, simple way. There’s still all that love, absolutely overflowing from Prompto, almost drowning him. There’s still the kisses they steal between bites and the hands that roam a little bit under the warmth of the sun. But, more than anything else, there’s the two of them together and happy and living a life they were never allowed to have.

“Okay. You have one more gift, then we can do whatever you want. It’s kinda small, so I hope you’re not too disappointed,” there’s a certain playfulness in Noct’s voice, sparkling right through his eyes when he says this. The food has been laid to waste by now, their trusty steed happily relaxing and munching on more chocobo-friendly snacks. Noctis is making for the saddlebag that held the components of the picnic even as he says this.

“ _ Another _ ? Noct, you went totally overboard. This is already perfect,” Prompto is still sitting on the blanket, toying with some of the crumbs, sipping occasionally at the frothy remnants of his soda. Noctis has absolutely outdone himself, there’s no denying, and  _ another  _ gift feels almost like overkill. Not that he’s complaining. He’s happy when Noctis settles behind him again, legs spread to either side of Prompto’s, arm dipping to hold against his waist.

“I think you’re technically supposed to be standing up, but I like it this way better,” Noctis has his voice pitched low when he speaks. There’s a certain shaky quality to it, one that makes Prompto frown. He seems nervous. He  _ feels  _ nervous, where he’s all tense around the arm, where he’s breathing a little quick where his chest is pressed to Prompto’s back. 

“Noct…” Prompto doesn’t know what to make of it, but there’s a bit of concern rising. He feels Noct’s arm tighten a little at his waist and feels a kiss press against his shoulder, keeping him firmly in place.

“And I definitely didn’t come up with a speech. Ignis usually writes those for me. He said it ‘wouldn’t be appropriate’ here, though. So you can blame him for this being so weird,” Prompto doesn’t speak this time, but he can’t say he’s much other than confused, maybe a touch of Noct’s nerves catching on him. He tilts his head just a little, tries to get a look enough at Noct’s face to read his expression. It doesn’t quite work. Noctis is speaking again, though, “so, if you don’t like this or don’t want it or whatever, that’s okay, I understand. It’s a lot, and…”

“Noct, why are you giving me a disclaimer for a birthday gift?” Prompto’s voice is giving just a little bit of alarm. He practically feels Noct wince, but there’s a hint of laughter in his chest too. He shifts and he frees his hand from Prompto’s waist. He moves it to wrap tight around Prompto’s instead, and when his other hand joins, it’s holding an exceptionally small box. Prompto’s mind is a little fuzzy, a little blank. He doesn’t make the connection until Noctis, all trembling fingers and full-body tension against him, flips the thing open to reveal a heavy gold band set at a plush center.

“I was hoping you’d maybe wanna... “ he doesn’t get the words out entirely, but the gist is there and he’s raising that held hand. His thumb brushes with a heavy amount of significance over Prompto’s ring finger.

“...for real?” Prompto is pretty sure his response is the wrong one, but he’s also pretty sure that ‘maybe you wanna’ isn’t a widely accepted proposal, either. Noctis says that he’s absolutely for real and Prompto untangles their hands so that Noct can get the ring slid on. He feels shaky, dizzy, overwhelmed. He stares for what feels like an eternity at the ring on his finger, the way it catches the light, the delicate engraving of a feather on the band. He’s trying to will away the hot, wet sensation at his eyes, but it doesn’t quite work. Noctis pulls back, just so he can turn, so he can tug Prompto into his lap and catch his gaze properly.

“Good crying or bad crying?” Noctis asks this from time to time, because it’s been a real question through the course of the past few months. Prompto’s life while he was gone, his life even before Noct was whisked away, had been difficult. There are scars that don’t show, that haven’t healed, that leave him a mess at the most inopportune moments. He’s given up, more often than not, at keeping the tears at bay. Noctis doesn’t always know where they come from- Prompto doesn’t always know himself- so asking is only fair.

“Good. Really good. I...yeah, really good,” Prompto laughs through the tears and he laughs a little at the relief obvious on Noct’s face when he draws him in, arms crushing around him, breath hot against his neck. 

“Totally should’ve ordered Ignis to write me a speech,” Prompto laughs again and he pulls up for a kiss. Then another. They’re lengthy and growing longer, the sort of kisses where they part for air and find that they still haven’t had enough. The tears don’t last long, though the kisses go salty for a moment or two between. They leave their foreheads resting together when they finally part, all breathless and utterly overwhelmed.

“You know how hard this is gonna be for me top on  _ your  _ next birthday?” Prompto goes for the joke, because Prompto always goes for the joke. Because that is their relationship, their friendship and their love and, apparently, soon enough their marriage. The teasing feels so easy and right, the same as just about everything between them does. 

“Can’t wait to see you try.”


End file.
